


Casting On, Casting Off

by swishandflickwit



Series: settle down [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 6x01, CS AU, Canon Divergence, Captain Cobra Swan, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Family Feels, cs fan fic, cs ff, domestic!cs, granny and her knitting, ouat ff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflickwit/pseuds/swishandflickwit
Summary: “You got a secret knitting talent or,” and at this next thought, she shuddered, “ugh, knitting fetish I should know about?”She’s all for sexual experimentation and fetishes but, seriously? Did it have to be knits?Fluff and family feels abound in the Swan-Jones-Mills household. Set somewhere during an imaginary downtime in 6x01. Also, temporarily disregards Emma's shaking hands.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Um, let's say that somewhere in 6x01, they found some time to chill and that it really is nearing December on the show like it is irl. 
> 
> I also tried to incorporate Emma's recent Savior powers short circuiting but to my endless frustration, I just couldn't work it into the story!!! So, again, let's just say that Emma was so in love and occupied with her pirate at these moments that she temporarily quelled the shaking. Ok? Ok.
> 
> Now that that's settled, let's get on with the story!

It started out innocuously enough.

  
A bonnet hung precariously on the tall hat rod in their bedroom.

  
A scarf slung atop the hook on the rack by the door.

  
A glove discarded on the coffee table.

  
Hardly alarming. Barely even noticeable for someone as disheveled as Emma.

  
But even _she_ had to draw the line at this.

  
_This_ being their coat closet filled to the brim with all manners of knitted items.

  
She was looking for her favorite gray bonnet when she happened upon it.

  
Hands to her hips and bafflement written plainly on her face at the sheer amount of knitted _everything_ now littering the floor of their foyer, she called the other occupant of the house and her _only_ suspect for this situation.

  
“Killian!”

  
“Yes, love?” He hollered in kind from the second floor.

  
“Could you come down here for a sec?”

  
She heard the heavy thud of his boots making its way across their floorboards from their second-story landing, then down the staircase. She was fully expecting him to reach her side which is why she didn’t immediately turn around when the stomping stopped, thinking he was just taking his time.

  
Luckily, she turned around just in time to see him do a swift about face to retreat towards the sanctuary of their bedroom, evidently, in an attempt to escape from _her_.

  
“Hold it, sailor.”

  
With his foot halfway up the step from the staircase landing, she was pleased to note that he looked at _least_ abashed.

  
With a resigned huff, he completed the short distance between them by reaching her side (in slow paces and heavy and dragging feet, much to her amusement though she did not show it).

  
“I can explain…” he muttered eventually, when he seemingly could not bear the pregnant silence that had befallen them.

  
She quirked an eyebrow (and the irony doesn’t escape her that it’s a habit she, undoubtedly, picked up from him) at his rapidly reddening face.

  
“You got a secret knitting talent or,” and at this next thought, she shuddered, “ugh, knitting _fetish_ I should know about?”

  
She’s all for sexual experimentation and fetishes but, seriously? Did it _have_ to be knits? Cause in her experience – apart from her baby blanket, lovingly knitted by Granny, of course, cause that shit came from magical _Enchanted_ _Forest_ yarn and therefore was soft as fuck – those things were damn _itchy_.

  
At those words, his eyes widened almost comically, and she would have laughed if she wasn’t dreading his answer.

  
“No!” He sputtered at first until eventually, he repeated a bit more calmly, “Gods no, nothing like that Swan, I assure you.”

  
She couldn’t contain her sigh of relief. “Oh. Well. That’s good to hear.”

  
_Really_ good, in all actuality, cause no amount of affirmed True Loves tests or Light Magic would be able to help her stomach a _knitting_ fetish, of all things.

  
Honestly, she’s not judging, but _that_ just wasn’t for her. Different strokes for different folks and all that.

  
(And how, exactly, would that even work? Did that mean wearing knitted outfits while having sex? Somehow incorporating knitting needles into foreplay? Could one knit another into _orgasm_?

  
Yeah. Nope. Not for her.

  
Also, she is _so_ done with thinking about this)

  
But that still didn’t explain the mountainous pile of knitting garments currently tumbled from their coat closet.

  
“So it’s the secret knitting talent then? Cause I gotta say, knitting one-handed is _hella_ impressive and something I just _have_ to see for myself–”

  
A tiny chuckle escaped him. “While your faith in my abilities continues to astound me, love, it’s not the explanation for this either.”

  
She turned confused eyes to him. “So what _is_ the explanation then?”

  
The flush on his cheeks seemed to deepen then, something she didn’t even think was possible, given how red he was to start. He mumbled something she didn’t quite catch.

  
“What was that?”

  
He cleared his throat and said, in a way that clearly quite pained him, “It’s Granny.”

  
“Okay…” she said, though she understood nothing. Her confusion only deepened. “What _about_ Granny?”

  
“Well, she’s taken quite a shining to me, if _this_ ” he gestured haphazardly to the knitted mess strewn about their floor, “is any indication.”

  
“I don’t get it.”

  
“She likes to knit me things.” He breathed out in a rush and in a move most uncharacteristic of her pirate, considering the size of the man’s ego, Killian shuffled his feet in a manner befitting a chagrined five-year old, his eyes averted to the floor as he elaborated.

  
“She says the winds will only get colder from here on out, now that December is fast approaching and she thinks I don’t bundle myself up proper enough so she’s taken it upon herself to knit me an _entire_ winter wardrobe! Me! I’m only a 300-year-old pirate who’s survived Neverland, the wrath of Cora, the Evil Queen, Cora _and_ the Evil Queen, three curses, battles with foes both old and new, Hades, the Underworld and more than a couple of the Crocodile’s attempts to end my life – all without getting even the tiniest hint of a cold!” He rolled his eyes. “I just don’t know how to get that indomitable gerontic to stop!”

  
Despite his outward agitation and the less-than-savory choice words he referred to Granny, there was no mistaking the twinkle in his eye or the exasperated fondness in his tone that would have gone unnoticed to anyone but her.

  
Delighted, she replied, “You could just tell her all that.”

  
He looked at her askance. “What, and risk Granny’s wrath in the form of her crossbow pointed to my gorgeous arse?” Ah, there was the cocky, self-preservative pirate she and everyone else was accustomed to, she’d wondered where he’d gone, “No thanks.”

  
It was then when he began picking up the various knitted clothing – scarves, bonnets, right-handed gloves, jackets, sweaters and blankets of all styles and colors and designs – and folding them into neat, meticulous piles based on kind, that it hit her.

  
“It’s more than that, though. Isn’t it?” Her voice was soft, and when he looked at her solemnly, he knew she understood.

  
He’s never told her much about his childhood, but then again, he’s never needed to. They’ve both sported that same look in their eyes – the one that says they’ve been left alone for too long. So long, in fact, that till now neither of them are used to being cared for or fussed over.

  
Doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate it though. And it certainly doesn’t mean they want it to _stop_.

  
Despite having carried a rather jaded outlook for majority of their lives, being surrounded by friends, love, family and never ending acts of kindness such as Granny’s, has done wonders to mend that hurt. It’s a slow process, for sure, but it’s going and unlikely to stop – not when they have each other.

  
She sighed, but it was a loving one. “Come here.”

  
He obliged and when he was close enough, she tugged him by the lapels of his leathers, as she’s so fond of doing, till their foreheads were pressed, their noses touching and their cool breaths were mingling in the hairbreadth space between them. She kissed him then, slow and languorous, her lips sucking languidly at his own till he opened for her, sweet and unhurried, their tongues tangled in a dance as old as time.

  
When the need for air became all too much, she pulled away, but only enough that her eyes only slightly crossed as she looked into his own. She gave him a dazzling and mischievous smile as she hummed against his lips, “You’ve a soft and warm heart, oh fierce Captain Hook.”

  
“Perish the thought,” he scoffed, but it was half-hearted, as he said it with bright eyes, red cheeks and a lazy grin.

  
“Don’t worry,” she whispered in his ear, before giving him a lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth, “it’ll be our secret.”

  
Though she was quite sure that everyone could see, not the dreaded Captain Hook, but the noble Killian Jones, a man of honor, more and more everyday – even if he himself couldn’t fathom that.

  
But that’s the beauty of family and True Love, she thinks, that they’re there to help you lessen the distance between who you are and who you truly want to be.  
With a bit of effort, as she was content to stay in the warm and comforting circle of his arms on this cold day, she disentangled from their embrace. From the storm of knitted articles, she plucked an interestingly blue and green stripped scarf (reminiscent of both his and her eye colors respectively, that sly fox, she thought affectionately) and looped it around his neck once, twice. Then, she grabbed her keys and headed for the door.

  
“Aren’t you coming?” She said as he was still eyeing her perplexedly from his spot by the coat closet.

  
“Where are we going?” He asked though he was already walking to latch onto her outstretched hand, his trust in her implicit. It made her insides tingle and her smile brighten just that bit more.

  
“Well,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “Babe, I know our house is huge, but even we don’t have the kind of closet space for the metric ton shit of assorted knitted stuff Granny made you.”

  
The winter wardrobe comment, yeah, _not_ an exaggeration.

  
Then, she added with a mutter, “Between one crisis and the next, where the hell does she even find the _time_ to make you that stuff?”

  
And knowing Granny’s benevolent, though not always obvious, heart, Killian wasn’t the only one she was doing this for.

  
“So what’s the plan?” he asked, once they were settled in her trusted yellow bug (trusted being applied liberally here, she knew, for though Killian trusted _her_ , he still had issues with her ‘vessel’, issues which weren’t unfounded. Not that she’d ever admit such a thing to him).

  
“We’re going to buy some boxes and we’re going to sort through what you want to keep. The rest we’ll donate to our newest residents.”

  
To which she was referring to the former citizens of the Land of Untold Stories, currently citizens of Storybrooke though finding each one housing was still taking some time.

  
He whined. “And what of Granny when she finds out that I’ve decided to give away her precious creations? Creations that she knitted _intentionally_ for me, no less?”

  
At that precise moment, they landed on Main Street and no more than ten minutes, at the old matron’s establishment itself.  
She cut off the engine and turned to him with a chipper grin.

  
“Which is exactly why you’re gonna march in there, tell her you appreciate the gesture more than words can say, though I’m sure you’ll come up with them anyway cause you’re just that good with speeches ugh” she gave him a mock disgusted and slightly more real but still playfully envious look “but that she made you more than enough. Tell her you wanna share your blessings or better yet, tell her they’re so damn good you think no one should miss out—”

  
He laughed. “I quite understand what you’re getting at, Swan.” Leaning across the glove compartment, he chucked her chin tenderly, tucked a stray curl behind her ear and gave her a loving kiss. “Whatever shall I do without you?”

  
She smiled, pecking at his thumb as it passed her bottom lip.

  
“Good thing you never have to wonder. Now go!” She batted him away.

  
Unbuckling his seatbelt with a feigned grumble, he obliged. “Alright, but if Granny becomes cross and brings out her bow, I’m aiming your arse to her.”

  
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, cause the world would end if your gorgeous ‘arse’” he flinched exaggeratedly at the way she imitated his accent though really, it entertained him to no end “got mangled in any way.”

  
“Damn straight.” He winked at her.

  
But just before he entered the diner, he heard her shout, “Get me some grilled cheese and onion rings while you’re at it though cause I’m starving!”

  
And with an utterly charmed shake of his head and a two-fingered salute over his shoulder in acknowledgement, he opened the door.

* * *

Surprisingly to him but to no one else’s shock, Granny did _not_ fire her crossbow at his arse.

  
She did slap him at the back of his head and waggled a finger at him pointedly, exclaiming in that stern but well-meaning bark of hers, “Why didn’t you just say so, Jones!”

  
He did, in an effort to placate her, end up using the words “share” and “blessing” in some fashion. Though, more sincerely, he expressed his gratitude and in clipped and uncomfortable tones, told her how unused he was to such attentions and was hoping that this slight mishap wouldn’t impede them.

  
Granny, bless her, just broke at hearing those words but did not broadcast it. Choosing, instead, to heartily agree to donating them to the people from the Land of Untold Stories.

  
“It’ll save me spools of yarn, that’s for sure!” She then eyed the scarf she made him coiled snuggly about his neck approvingly. “But I know they were never a waste on you.”

  
He beamed, even when his cheeks reddened at the compliment (damn, they’d been doing that a lot today) but at least, he had the cold to blame and that was that.

  
With a few more words exchanged (“Alright, alright. No more knits for you unless you ask for ‘em.” “Not that that’ll stop you,” he muttered under his breath so only he would here but she replied with a feigned unamused glare in his direction, “I heard that.” and he cursed her wolf senses) and a fond pat to his cheek to which Granny recoiled in horror with how cold it was, she bellowed to him, “Will you just wear the damn bonnets I make you or there really _will_ be hell to pay, Jones!” and sent him on his merry way with a shepherd’s pie for him, a grilled cheese and onion rings for Emma and hot chocolates for the pair of them.

  
Emma herself had been busy during that time, having already bought the boxes for which they would be sorting out the items.

  
When they reached home, the messy pile of garments right where they left them, she suddenly remembered the reason she was in the coat closet in the first place when she usually didn’t venture through it (preferring the rack by the door for faster access during any crisis).

  
“By the way, have you seen my bonnet?”

  
“Which one?”

  
“You know, the gray one? It’s my fav—”

  
“Your favorite because it’s not as frilly as your blue one? Yes I recall.”

  
He didn’t elaborate.

  
“So…” She eyed him suspiciously when he kept his back to her as he continued sorting through his clothes.

  
She placed her hands on her hips and tapped impatiently with her foot.

  
“ _Killian_.”

  
He raised hook and hand up in surrender. “I’m sorry!” She narrowed her eyes in a way that clearly conveyed the message: “explain yourself.”

  
“I may have borrowed it and forgot to return it to the rack.” Her jaw dropped. “ _You_ _borrowed_ _it?_ ”

  
“Aye, but I didn’t lose it!” He was quick to assure. “It’s on the hat rod in our bedroom which, as you know, if where I usually put my own head wear. It just escaped me—”

  
“So let me get this straight. You have countless bonnets, all shapes and sizes and styles, and you _still_ borrow one of two of _my_ bonnets?”

  
She stared at him with her mouth agape and her eyes widened in incredulity. He had the decency to look right and proper embarrassed.

  
“I’m sorry, Swan but to be fair, these concoctions of Granny’s do tend to itch—”

  
She silenced him with a finger to his lips and shake of her head.

  
“It’s a good thing I love you.”

  
And like every time she had said those words without fear of separation or a disaster looming ahead, he smiled and kissed her with a euphoric eagerness that overcame him and her, much like the very first time.

  
“I know.” He grinned, proud and the slightest bit smug that it was him quoting something at her this time around.

  
She shook her head again and rolled her eyes but all in jest. “Alright, Han Solo. Get a move on.”

  
But as he resumed his work, something occurred to her. “Hey, how come Granny knits you stuff and not me?” Part of her genuinely wondered but mostly she was kidding. She was actually glad she dodged this bullet. They _really_ didn’t have the closet space for this and she stood by her and evidently, Killian’s, earlier assessment.

  
Her pirate wrapped an arm around her and with a laugh and a playful nip to her jaw, he replied.

  
“Perhaps if you stopped criticizing her lasagna and insulting her establishment, she’d be so inclined.”

  
She shoved his face, refusing to acknowledge the truth of his statement.

  
“Shut up,” she grumbled good-naturedly, turning from him so he wouldn’t see her grin. He laughed once more.

  
The day progressed and just before nightfall, the front door opened to reveal Henry with a box of his own.

  
Emma groaned.

  
“You too?”

  
Henry dumped his box, labelled ‘donation’, right next to Killian’s.

  
“Yup,” he said before bounding into the kitchen where Emma and Killian were partaking in a afternoon snack of Pop Tarts (Emma) and apples (Killian, as he refused to categorize Pop Tarts as real food due to its alarmingly high sugar content), grabbing a Pop Tart (to which Killian groaned) and propping himself up on the counter.

  
“Heard what you were doing from Leroy when he passed by the library where I was helping out Belle. I figured I should contribute, since I had a growing stack of Granny threads myself from the years.”

  
Henry took a bite of his Pop Tart at the same time Emma did, which made them both laugh. So when they finished chewing, they toasted Pop Tarts and swiftly gobbled a second bite.

  
Killian watched on in morbid fascination and disgust.

  
“It’s any wonder neither of all your teeth have fallen out with the frequency and alacrity you two eat that monstrous treat. It's raw!”

  
“For the last time, Killian.” Emma said as she shoved the entire second half into her mouth. And because she knew it irked him, she continued, with her mouth full. “It’s not raw.”

  
“We toast it.” Henry confirmed, as if it made it all alright.

  
Before he could retort, Henry was bounding off the counter with the grace and poise you would expect from a growing, lanky, teenage boy who had yet to grow into his limbs, smothering a groan as Henry unintentionally bumped into a chair which then bumped into his shin and rummaging through his ‘to keep’ box with great enthusiasm.

  
“So,” he started curiously, “what’d did you keep?”

* * *

In the end, Killian kept an assortment of scarves, hats, sweaters and blankets, enough items for him to be ready for each winter. He knew he wouldn’t be able to use all of them but all the same, they each had earned their sentimental value. They were a reminder, that someone cared enough for his well-being, to take the time to craft such lovely and useful creations.

  
Though he was sad to part with the majority of them, seeing another person – a complete stranger – accepting the checkered blanket from him and looking at him, _him_ , with a grateful smile was decidedly worth it.

  
From the corner of her eye, Emma watched the exchange, barely able to contain her love and her pride.

  
She knew he still felt far removed from the man they all already perceived him to be. But perhaps, it was okay.

  
Receiving an act of kindness spurred him to enact his own and the look of awe on his face when the recipient of his kindness looked at him warmly and without a hint of judgement told her that these baby steps were exactly what he needed.

  
That it was a start.

  
And for now, it was enough.

  
Besides, these things have a way of unfolding eventually.

  
With a little time, she was positive he’d see what she saw when she looked at him.

  
What they _all_ saw.

* * *

_(And Granny… Granny kept her word about putting a stop to the knitting madness._

  
_That is, until she didn’t._

  
_Cause when Emma, Killian and Henry welcomed another addition to their family, she was back to knitting up a storm.)_

  
_(And because villains and crises waited for no one, this time, the family was simply too tired, and too bloody grateful, to complain.)_

  
_(Itchiness notwithstanding.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Idek what my course is anymore (BS Human Ecology) because we have an entire subject dedicated to fabrics and knitting. KNITTING. And I tell you, I hate it and it’s damned hard. Like seriously, I have SO MUCH respect to you people who knit but personally, I have no patience for the art and it infuriates me to no end! 
> 
> That being said, our knitting exercise today is what inspired this little fic after a 4-month drought. I wish I could say I was back in the writing game but this is truly all I have time for – actually, I don’t have time for this at all but it WOULD NOT LEAVE ME ALONE and so, it had to be written. One of the fastest I ever have actually.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> Now I need to crawl back into my dark hole of thesis writing and deadlines. Ugh.
> 
> Oh, and by the way, for those of who don’t knit (like me), the title is a reference to the first and final steps in the knitting process. Err, at least I think it is.


End file.
